


Spoonman

by KiaPod (MistressPandora)



Series: The Metallicar Soundtrack [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Awkward Sexual Situations, Gay Panic, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-16
Updated: 2017-02-16
Packaged: 2018-09-24 23:00:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9790937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressPandora/pseuds/KiaPod
Summary: Dean and Castiel play a drinking game that leaves Dean with one hell of a hangover and no idea how he ended up in bed with his best friend.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Soundgarden's ["Spoonman"](https://youtu.be/T0_zzCLLRvE), the title of which made Pod think of this scene and giggle intermittently until it got finished.

Mid-morning sun peeked through the gaps in the dingy motel curtain by the time Dean awoke. He screwed his eyes shut as quickly as he opened them, head pounding. He reached blindly for the blanket to pull up to his shoulders. His hands touched warm skin rather than the rough, old fleece he expected. His eyes flew open but otherwise Dean remained perfectly still. Eyes wide, he assessed his situation. Cas’s arm was draped across his chest, hand limp by his side. Dean felt the blood drain from his face and the thundering of his heart punctuated the throbbing in his head. It wasn’t the first time in Dean’s life that he woke up hungover and wondering what the hell happened. It was, however, the first time that the thought didn’t make him smirk.  

“Good Morning Dean.” Castiel said softly from behind him, tone peaceful although his voice was still deep, smoky and full of growl. “What were you dreaming about?” he asked, wrapping his arms more tightly around Dean, who got the distinct impression that the Angel didn’t want him to move. 

“Cas,” Dean said cautiously, one eyebrow arched. “What are we doing?”

“I believe it is called cuddling,” came the dry monotone in response, as if this was a perfectly reasonable explanation to give to another man on a Saturday morning. 

Dean blinked. A part of him that was aware of such things was relieved he was at least wearing pants. Another part of him wasn’t so sure. The first part of him gut-punched the second part. “Yeah, I got that. Why?”

Castiel let out a soft, contented sigh. “Because it is nice,” he answered calmly, tightening his grip around Dean’s waist, pulling him flush against a firm, naked chest. “Shhh.”  

“Uh, yeah,” Dean said, a flush of panic coursing through him and he inched his hips toward the edge of the bed. “Um.” He began trying to disentangle himself from the mess of limbs that was his best  _ guy _ friend. “Cas, I’m gonna need coffee. Like, now.”

Castiel sighed behind him, sounding less content and more annoyed and pouty. Nonetheless, he released him, hands sliding across Dean’s bare skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. “I suppose coffee would be nice,” he conceded as he sat up. The usual bedhead was worse for being on the pillow and he looked rumpled and tousled and fuckable.  _ Wait, what the hell?  _ Castiel finally stood, giving Dean his much needed spa ce.

Moving faster than he ever had with a hangover, Dean climbed to his feet, bracing a hand against the wall as a painful headrush threatened to bring him to his knees. He stumbled toward the kitchenette, steadying himself against the walls as he went. He landed in front of the coffee pot, hands on either side of the machine, shoulders hunched, and head down. What was going on here? He’d just passed out drunk. This was Cas. It was okay, no big deal. Coffee would help. Coffee and a greasy breakfast with a lot of protein. 

Castiel followed him into the little kitchen and Dean could feel the burn from the angel’s intense stare at his back. “Do you require a bucket?” Castiel asked from behind him. “I hear that they are the appropriate response to nausea…” he added as if sharing his helpful knowledge would make Dean feel fine again. “I could make the coffee,” he added helpfully. 

Dean shook his head and regretted it instantly, yanking the carafe off of the burner and shoving it under the running faucet. “No. No thanks, man, I got it,” he answered. He filled the basket with coffee grounds and the tank with water and glared at the coffee pot, willing it to fill faster. “There’s some aspirin in my duffel, though. Could you get it for me?”

“Of course.” Castiel disappeared as silently as he had entered the room and he was back soon after with the bottle of medication in hand. His hair was still messy and he gave Dean that same innocent expression he always wore. “You seemed to sleep well, no nightmares,” he observed. “I hope you feel well rested despite your headache.” 

Dean accepted the bottle and thumbed open the cap. He shook out five tablets and popped them into his mouth, chewing them. He grimaced and swallowed hard, thinking about Cas’s statement, pointedly ignoring the voice in his head that sounded like Sam scolding him for taking aspirin like that. Dean pursed his lips and tilted his head from side to side, considering Cas’s question. “I suppose I do, for having a hangover.” Dean kept his eyes away from Cas, focusing on every detail of what he was doing, like pulling two mugs out of the cabinet and setting them on the counter, waiting for the coffee pot to fill enough to pour.

“I’m glad you slept well,” Castiel said and then paused as if he was picking his words carefully. “Dean… I meant to do something last night, before you lost consciousness,” he said and blinked. “May I do it now?” 

Dean massaged his aching forehead with one hand, scowling at the pain of the hangover and the dread of whatever was about to come out of Castiel’s mouth next. “Sure,” he said, feigning brightness. “Go for it.”

“Last night you told me that you wanted to touch me.” Castiel said and there was a long pause afterwards as if that was all he was going to say. 

Dean closed his eyes. He had no idea what Cas was talking about, but he knew he had a tendency to say things while shit-faced that he shouldn’t. Part of Dean wanted to squash this right now, but another part--probably that same stupid part that wasn’t sure he was relieved about wearing pants in bed with Castiel The Freaking Angel of the Lord--just  _ had _ to know what happened next. Off he plunged. “Yes?”

Castiel took a step closer to Dean. “I pulled you close and… my vessel responded to your closeness.” Castiel admitted behind Dean. He sounded… tentative, confused even. “Dean?” 

Dean kept his eyes intent on the coffee pot, but his brain was moving 1000 miles per hungover hour. It was dizzying. Or maybe that was Cas standing so close to him.

God, no.

Coffee. Focus on coffee. 

That stupid secondary part of Dean’s brain asked, “How do you mean?” The rest of Dean cringed and wished he could disappear

Castiel spoke then, quieter but his voice was deeper with the emotion that was peeking through. “My vessel’s autonomic responses became heightened, my heart-rate quickened, I felt as if I could not catch my breath despite the lack of need to breathe. My stomach clenched and it felt as if there was electricity going through my limbs. My penis grew hard… Dean.” He trailed off and then suddenly strong hands grabbed Dean roughly by the shoulders, spinning him around to face Cas. The Angel’s eyes were gleaming with power and knowledge and… desire and suddenly there were lips against Dean’s own, insistent and urgent in their need. 

Dean’s eyes flew open wide and every last muscle in his body went rigid. Somewhere alarms were going off, and even the morbidly curious little voice in Dean’s head that wondered what it would have been like to wake up naked this morning was speechless. Heat flashed across every square inch of skin on Dean’s body and the world spun. For a moment he indulged in the surprise that Cas’s lips were dry but soft against his own, but when Dean realized that his cock had begun to harden under the onslaught of sensation, he gripped Cas’s bare shoulders tightly with both hands and pushed him away. He didn’t shove him very hard, but they both backed into the cabinets on opposite sides of the narrow kitchenette. Dean’s hands still hovered in the air between them, trembling from the pure adrenaline of the situation, chest heaving and breath ragged. 

Dean tried to tell himself that it was the crushing hangover that made him dizzy and unsteady on his feet. It was the taste of scotch on Cas that made his tongue dart out to lick his lips. It was guilt that lurched in the pit if Dean's stomach, not want and excitement, like his damn confused dick seemed to think. Dean told himself all these things in the blink of an eye and none of it rang true. He thought of running. He thought Cas looked vaguely concerned and breathless. The angel's lips were flushed pink, pupils dilated. 

When Dean was able to speak again, his voice sounded unsteady and husky in his own ears. No telling what Cas heard. “Cas, what the hell?”

Castiel’s eyes were flashing with several emotions and his chest was heaving in a way that Dean had never seen before. The Angel of the Lord appeared more human now than he ever had. Cas stared at Dean, eyes roaming his posture before his own seemed to deflate. His shoulders slumped and he lowered his eyes. “My apologies, Dean,” he whispered. 

Dean mopped both hands over his face and turned his back to Cas. His head didn't ache anymore, probably the adrenaline. As far as surprise, unsolicited kisses went, it wasn't the worst he'd ever had.  _ What am I thinking?! _ This was a disaster. 

He turned back to face Cas again, sweeping his eyes over his best friend, who looked absolutely defeated. Dean was evenly split between panic and a deep ache for his friend that he refused to define as anything more than not wanting him to hurt.

Castiel stared at the floor for several long moments and he hesitated, chest puffing up like he would speak before it deflated again. “I will go,” he finally settled on. 

“No,” Dean barked, tone terse enough to make Cas jump. “I'm gonna go get some air. You stay put where it's safe.” Dean stalked back to the couch where he'd left his boots. He just stomped into them without stopping to tie them, snatching up his keys and cell on the way out the door. 

* * *

Dean coughed. “That’s not--no, it didn’t happen like that, man.”  _ I’m gonna fucking punch his lights out _ . 

“Really, Dean? Then how did it happen?” Sam was turned on the bench seat to face Dean, eyes boring into him like a drill. “Because Cas used the phrase  _ laid with _ , man.”

Dean winced. “Son of a--No!” He risked a glance at Sam, who was just staring at him with his eyebrows raised. “Look, we were watching  _ Empire _ and playing a drinking game, okay? I had too much, and I passed out. That’s it.”

“You sure?” Sam asked after a beat. “He also mentioned that you blacked out.”

Dean ground his teeth. “Yes, okay, we were playing with scotch instead of beer--”

“Jesus, Dean, what did your liver ever do to you?”

“Hey, I had my reasons, okay?” He glared over at Sammy who held his hands up in surrender. “When I woke up, I was in bed and Cas….”  _ God help me _ . “Cas was…  _ spooning me _ , alright?”

For a moment there was silence in the passenger seat. A very brief moment. Then there was laughter. Lots of it. Buckets of it. Dean set his jaw and thought about how much he hoped his pain-in-the-ass little brother would choke on his own tongue. 

“Were you the little spoon?” Sam asked between gasps for air in his fucking giggle fit.

Dean affected an air of righteousness. “I’m not going to dignify that with a response.”

“OH MY GOD, YOU WERE!” Sam cried.

Dean glared between the road and Sam’s stupid face. “I will pummel you, so help me.”

Sam was sliding down in his seat, gasping for breath, laughing harder than Dean had heard in a really long time. The laughing was good. Dean as the butt of the joke was not.

“Mr. Macho-Doesn’t-Cuddle was the little spoon with a friggin’ Angel of the Lord!”

Dean had had enough. “Alright!” he barked. “Knock it off, man, it’s not  _ that _ funny.”

“No, dude, it’s hilarious.” Sam scrunched up his face in a weird sort of scowl, like he was tasting a lemon. “Did you wake up with morning wood?”

Dean threw another evil eye at Sam. “Why in the actual hell would you ask me that?”


End file.
